Interrogation
by Ravengirl1011
Summary: John's finally got a day to himself. What could go wrong? However, it seems John has done something to upset Mycroft, a big mistake. So can he prove to Mycroft he means what he says, or will the older Holmes brother think differently. EPILOGUE ADDED!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all! Thought I'd try my hand at writing a Sherlock story, since I've just gotten the DVD's! Anyway, this is set between "The Blind Banker" and "The Great Game".**

**I won't give too much away here... So enjoy!  
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For Dr John Watson days didn't normally start off like this. It was perfect. Normally, he'd of been up hours ago working at the clinic or chasing his half mad flatmate Sherlock Holmes around London in search of criminals, but not today. It was Saturday so he wasn't working and it was 9:30am yet he hadn't been pulled out of bed with tales of serial killers murdering people using sweets (Which had happened more than once surprisingly) or threats that if tea wasn't made the living room wall would end up looking like Swiss cheese(Again, a strangely common occurrence) It seemed odd to him, simply laying in bed for the sake of laying there with nothing to do and no deadlines to meet, it was quite relaxing. Don't get him wrong, he loved being busy as much as the next guy. He loved the feeling of Adrenaline pumping through his veins as he ran, and the excitement of the unknown, that was the reason he'd become an army doctor and not a normal GP like so many others; he wanted adventure. However, there was only so much a man could take before he had to recharge his batteries, which was exactly what he was planning on doing today. Sherlock had gone storming out of the flat at about 7:00am, shouting that he wouldn't be back until late and, also something that had sounded alarming like "bomb in a blender", he couldn't even begin to guess what Sherlock was planning. Maybe it was for a case?

After a few more minutes he decided he had to do something today, even if it was just watching the TV, he couldn't stay in bed all day. So, reluctantly, he pushed back the covers and forced himself out of his warm sanctuary and into the cold world. Quickly, he pulled off his t-shirt and jogging bottoms and re-dressed himself in a pair of black jeans with a white t-shirt and grey jumper on top, before pulling on a pair of black shoes. So, he was dressed, now what? Tea. This was the only answer his brain could provide, and it sounded quite pleasant, so that was that sorted. Slowly he made his way down the stairs and into the complete mess that was his and Sherlock's living room, it looked as if a tornado had hit it, maybe he could tidy up today? Then again, maybe not. Thinking this through, he wandering into the kitchen and filled up the kettle, before finding a reasonably clean mug (They never seemed to have completely clean ones) and dropping a teabag and 2 sweeteners into it. Then as the water boiled, he came to the part he dreaded; getting the milk out of the fridge. There was nothing actually wrong with the appliance, it chilled things and stopped them going off, it was what you were going to find inside of it. Sherlock had essentially turned the Kitchen into his own private laboratory, and as such, he saw no reason why it was inappropriate to leave parts of his experiments in the fridge (He'd found a horse's head in there last time) This meant that even if you were trying to find something simple, like milk, you were in for a shock.

Cautiously he pulled the silver door open to reveal the contents of the abused appliance. To his surprise it was nowhere near as bad as he thought it was going to be, there was a small pile of what liked liver (human or animal he didn't know) in the corner, and other than that, there was just the milk. However, as he reached for it, he heard something in the lounge behind him. Like the squeak of a floorboard. Was Sherlock back already? No, he couldn't be, he hadn't heard the front door open or close. Forgetting the milk, John slowly walked into the lounge, not sure what to expect. Carefully he examined every detail of the place he now called home, searching desperately for the source of the disturbance. There was nothing as far as he could tell, and it was an old house, they normally squeaked, didn't they? Laughing slightly at his own nerves, he turned back to the kitchen, about to continue with his task, when suddenly someone grabbed him. It was unexpected and caught him off guard, and before he realised what was happening he'd been tackled to the floor, with his assailant on top of him. The man in front of John was young with pale white skin, cold grey eyes and short dark brown hair, though this wasn't John's primary concern at that moment. He squirmed against the man, but he was completely pinned down, unable to move his arms or legs. Then suddenly out of nowhere the man had pushed a damp cloth over John's nose and mouth, holding it there with his hand.

Desperately John tried to avoid breathing in whatever was covering the cloth. He bucked his legs under the other man's body and continued to turn his head back forth, hoping to dislodge the man's hand, but it was useless , his assailant was holding him too firmly. Being tackled had knocked the breath out of him, and now John desperately needed to breath, he couldn't hold it in any longer. All too soon he took a reflex breath in through his nose, allowing whatever the drug was to enter his system. It smelled sickly sweet, and seemed to work fast, after the first breath, his head began to spin slightly, and even though he was on the ground he felt like he was falling. As the drug continued to make it's way around his system, his whole body seemed become heavy, and he no longer had the energy to fight against the man. Without realising it John's eyes had flicked shut, and he'd begun to breath freely, no longer having the thought power to control it, as his mind began to cloud. Vaguely he felt the man's weight shift against his body as he began to stand, though John could still feel the cloth against his face. He felt so numb and detached, he barely registered the fact the man had removed the cloth and that he was being carried, and then he could fight it no longer and the darkness of unconsciousness consumed him.

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**Please Review, I hardly get any reviews on my other stories! Will update soon!**

**Again please review, because I love reading them before heading off to school (hint hint)!**

**TTFN (Tah Tah For Now)  
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	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everybody. If your reading this, your reading my story, so thanks! Anyway, this is Chapter 2, I'm not sure about how good it is though, because I wrote while I was on holiday, so it may not be great, but I hope you enjoy it. Sorry if one of my characters (You'll know which one when you read it) is a bit OTT, I didn't know how angry and sinister I should make him. **

**So anyway, please read on and enjoy!  
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John had been kidnapped before, on more than one occasion (Most of the time it had something to do with Sherlock) and what he saw when he finally awoke was not what he was expecting. He was laying on a large black leather sofa (Quite a contrast from the traditional hard wooden chair) and he found he was able to move his limbs, so he wasn't tied up (Another tradition) With much effort he managed to sit up, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, and began to survey the room he'd been left in (Sherlock was really rubbing off on him) hoping to figure out where he was. The room itself was cold and clinical with bare white walls and a black tiled floor, the door (if it could be called that) was directly in front of the sofa and seemed to be made of nothing but metal, there wasn't even a handle. Finally beside the door was a large black box, with flashing red lights, and what appeared to be a glass panel at the top; strange. Other than that and the sofa he was seated on, there was nothing else in the room; literally. Not even any windows, the only light was artificial, provided by strip lighting built into the ceiling and all these factors combined where helping to make John feel very uneasy.

As he thought all of this through, trying to make sense of it, another burst of pain shot through his head and it took every bit of his self-control to avoid crying out in agony. Whoever it was that had brought him here (Wherever here was) he was not going to show them weakness. Carefully, so as to avoid another explosion in his head, he looked around the room once again, hoping to find something. It didn't take long to find. Hidden away in the corner of the room, attached to the ceiling, so tiny he could hardly spot it, was the one device he knew would be here (It was too professional not to have it) a camera, staring directly at him. Looking directly at it he shouted "Who are you? What do you want with me?" knowing that somebody would hear him. He was right. A few moments later he could hear the clicking of electronic locks as the door in front of him began to open. Knowing he was about to meet the mystery man (Or women) John tried to stand, however this only made his head spin, so he settled for glaring at the door from his seated position. Slowly the slab of metal glided sideways into the wall, allowing the person on the other side entry into the room (Though cell would have been more accurate.) John had no idea who to expect on the other side of that door (Though he had his suspicions) but the person that met his gaze was a complete surprise. Standing in the doorway was an all too familiar figure: the spotless black suit, the immaculately combed brown hair and the signature smug grin, it could be no one else. "Mycroft?"

"Dr Watson." Replied the older of the two Holmes brothers curtly, as he entered, the door sliding shut behind him. "What the hell is going on?" Asked John, once again trying to stand in order to confront the man in front of him, but falling back against the sofa as the world span again. "I had you drugged and brought here." Mycroft replied simply, not having moved from in front of the door, his eyes seemingly examining John's expressions intently. "I know that," John said, trying desperately to keep his voice steady "Why?" Honestly, Sherlock with his experiments and Mycroft with his kidnapping, was every member of the Holmes family completely mad? However, suddenly that didn't matter as another burst of red hot agony shot through his skull, but this time he couldn't hold it back "Aghhh!" he cried, doubling over and raising his hands to his throbbing temples. Out of the corner of his eye, he still could still see Mycroft, who had not moved to help him in any way, if anything the small smile that graced his lips had widened. After a few seconds the worst of the pain had disappeared, allowing him to sit up and look at the man before him once again.

"I suggest you drink this." Mycroft said calmly, as he pulled a bottle of water from his pocket (Not even attempting to answer John's question) and walked towards him, holding it out for him to take, but John was wary. What's in that water? He thought to himself. Mycroft had drugged him once already today (Was it still today? He didn't know how long he'd been out for.) what was to stop him doing it again? "Unless you'd rather sit there in constant agony?" Mycroft asked impatiently, clearly noticing John's hesitation. Slowly John reached out and took the bottle from the other man's hand, before removing the cap and bringing up to his face. It smelt normal (Then again, what does water smell like?) and it was still clear, maybe it was safe? Raising it to his lips John took a small sip, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist," Mycroft said, he voice low and almost threatening, "I'm going to need you completely sober for this interview." Then without warning he grabbed the bottle, still at john's mouth, and tipped it upwards, forcing the other man to either drink the contents or choke. With the bottle empty (And John half drowned) Mycroft removed it, grabbed the cap from John's hand, and placed back into his pocket. "What do you mean interview?" John asked as he caught his breath, "Where am I?" Mycroft smirked a small, cold smile as he stood in front of John looking down at him. "You're in the interrogation room." He said coldly, not taking his eyes off of John for even a second, "And where's that?" John asked curiously, as he began to feel the pain leaving his head. "That would be telling." Mycroft replied, almost teasing him.

By now the pain had left John's head completely and he decided to have another go at standing, slowly he pushed himself up, but just as he was on his feet Mycroft pushed him back down roughly, glaring at him. "Now, now John. Stay down." He couldn't help but hear the venom as Mycroft said his name, and he could only guess at what he had done to earn it. Suddenly, before he realised what was happening Mycroft had sat down beside him and had grabbed his left hand, "Now John," he said his voice still calm, but filled with anger "let's talk.". Quickly John tried to pull away, but the other man was stronger than he looked, and refused to let go, then suddenly there was pressure on his hand, then pain. Blazing pain. If he thought the after affects of the drug were bad, this was a whole new level. His mind couldn't comprehend what Mycroft had done, but it was agony. He had no idea how long this went on for, he only knew he wanted it to end. Finally, when his hand was released it was like he'd been removed from the fires of hell, he moved over to the other end of the sofa, as far from Mycroft as he could get without standing (After the last time, he was certain he wouldn't be allowed) glaring at the man, who was sitting quite calmly as if he did this sort of thing every day. Mycroft looked over at him and smiled slightly "Pressure point." He explained absentmindedly. Then suddenly he was standing again, once more looking down at John like a predator eyeing up its prey, John was beginning to understand what Sherlock had meant by the most "The most dangerous man you'll ever meet" he was now truly scared. "I believe, John," Mycroft said in the same calm yet angry voice, "that you are trying to kill my brother."

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**Thanks for reading it. Please review, I always to know what people think and how I can improve. Also in the next chapter I need to know what you want Mycroft to use on John, there are 2 options.**

**1.) A Lie Detector 2.) Truth Serum**

**It's your choice so just put which one you'd prefer in a review, and one with the most votes gets in. I'm going to start on the next Chapter on 2/1/11 so get your votes in before then. **

**So until then TTFN (Tah Tah For Now)**

**P.S Did anyone get the line from in there from the show "The Prisoner" The first person to tell me it gets a shout out and a tray of imaginary cookies!  
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	3. Chapter 3

**Hello all! I'm so sorry it's taken so long for me to update, I've had a lot on my plate. **

**Anyway, I'd like to thank everyone who gave their opinion on the Lie Detector and Truth Syrum, please read on to find out which one, won!**

**Also, I'm sorry if it's hard to read the speech, but I don't know how to change it.  
**

**Finally congrats to RavenImperatrix, for getting the quote from "The Prisoer" it was "That would be telling." You recieve a plate of imaginary cookies and an imaginary hug from Sherlock (Though I can't guarentee he'll like it!) **

**So please read on, and enjoy!  
**

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Trying to kill my brother. It took a few seconds for John to fully understand what Mycroft had just said. Did Mycroft really think he was trying to kill Sherlock? "What?" Asked the shocked doctor looking up at the man who was still standing threateningly close to him. "You heard me John," Mycroft said curtly, once again spitting venom on his name, "you are trying to kill my brother." It was a statement, not a question. John just couldn't get his head around this, it had to be some kind of joke. Then again, the Holmes brothers never made jokes. "You really think I'm trying to kill Sherlock!" John practically shouted, "I've been living with him for months, and you've just decided I want to kill him! Why the hell would you think that?" He tried to stand, but found himself being pushed down roughly once again (He probably should of guessed that was going to happen) "When you moved in with my brother, I automatically put you under surveillance." Mycroft stated calmly, sitting himself down at the other end of the sofa, "I have to keep Sherlock safe, as he won't do it himself. Therefore I have been monitoring your every move." Hearing that made the hairs on the back of John's neck stand on end. With that information this man in front of him, could break him, ruin him and destroy him, without even batting an eyelid.

"You haven't answered by question." John said, quite proud that he'd managed to keep his voice from shaking, "Why do you think I'm trying to kill Sherlock?" Mycroft gave a brief humourless laugh, which made John's skin crawl, "You forget John," Mycroft said threateningly, "Sherlock is not the only one gifted with the powers of deduction." Right, so Mycroft had deduced that he was trying to kill Sherlock, John thought to himself. How? What had he done to make Mycroft think that? Him and Sherlock had always gotten on reasonably well (Aside from the odd argument about body parts in the fridge) what possible reason would he have to kill the younger man? "How..." John started, but Mycroft cut in, " You often leave the flat at strange hours, normally between 11:00pm and 3:00am. You then proceed to walk to the local park, and walk around for 3o minutes before entering the public toilets and staying there for 10 minutes. During this time I do not have surveillance on you, and have no idea what you do. So?" There he stopped, clearly expecting a explanation from John. However, it took a few moments for the other man to get his thoughts together, he was so shocked about the vast amount of information Mycroft had on him. Finally he answered "I don't sleep well at night." He admitted reluctantly "Walking helps tire me out, so I can actually sleep. I go into the toilet to think before I go back." Great. John thought bitterly to himself. He never wanted anyone to know about his little night time walks now it was on tape (Well DVD, who used tapes anymore?) "Hmm." Mycroft muttered, before resuming his normal voice, "Really, if you can't think of anything more original, this interrogation will be very dull."

Dull. What the hell did he mean by that? "I'm telling the truth!" John shouted, glaring at the man who was smiling smugly at him, "It is my belief you are meeting someone there." John tried to cut in, but the other man carried on too quickly, "Now, I had some of my men examine you mobile phone records for the last few weeks. Do you know what was found?" John shot the man another glare, but kept silent, he honestly had no idea what they might of uncovered. Other than a few calls to Harry and Sarah, he mostly used it to keep in contact with Sherlock while working on cases. "While looking through the records of who you've phoned and texted, we found the numbers of 5 known assassins and 2 drugs dealers. Conclusion of these findings, you were probably planning on hiring an assassin, but since it was too expensive, decided to do the deed yourself and kill him with drugs." As this explanation came out, John could hear Mycroft's voice becoming more and more steely, until it was as cold as ice. However that wasn't the most pressing issue for John at that precise moment. Who the hell had made those calls? As if he couldn't guess; Sherlock! Why couldn't that man ever use his own phone? Honestly, when he got home, he was going to kill him (Probably not the best thing to be thinking of at that point in time) "I did not contact those people!" John protested, "It must of been Sherlock, he's always using my phone while on cases." At the mention of his brother's name Mycroft's anger seemed to double, but he managed to keep his demeanour calm and collected. "And why would Sherlock be contacting those people?" Mycroft asked icily, "I don't know," replied John, meeting his even gaze, "maybe he was following up leads on a case." Mycroft slightly nodded his head at this, but it was clear to John that he didn't believe him.

"Finally," Mycroft continued on, as if presenting a case for the prosecution, "in the last few days the following have been purchased using your credit card." Slowly, Mycroft reached into his suit and removed a small sheet of paper, which he carefully unfolded and read out, "2 Gallons of Petrol, 500g of Cyanide and 20 Boxes of Rat Poison. All of these things, if ingested are deadly, so, conclusion you were planning on poisoning Sherlock." At this Mycroft stood up, once again, and stared down at John, his glare seeming to pierce through his skull. "I didn't buy any of that!" John insisted, "I haven't seen or used my card in over a week!" For what seemed like the millionth time John tried to stand, and to his surprise, he was allowed on his own two feet. Mycroft (Who was an awful lot taller than John) glared down at the smaller man in front of him, but John defiantly met his gaze, "I can see why you might think it, but I'm not trying to kill Sherlock! What have I ever done before, that suggests to you I want him dead?" Mycroft didn't answer, but simply continued to stare at him. "Fine!" John shouted walking away and pacing back, "If you're so certain I'm actually trying to kill him, why have you brought me here? Why didn't you just kill me?" Again Mycroft features distorted into that that cold smile, "Because, unlike my Brother, my ego isn't so big, I think I'm always 100% correct. I bought you here to confirm my theory." Discreetly Mycroft turned away from John and looked up at a corner of the ceiling. "Also, I really do not wish to have to remove you from Sherlock's life. You've been good for him." John could tell what he meant, Sherlock did seemed to have changed since he'd moved in with him.

"So, how are you planning on confirming your theory?" Asked John, his arms crossed against his chest, "Your clearly not going to listen to me." Mycroft looked at him again, almost amused, "On the contrary," he stated "I'm planning on listening to you intently." It was then that John heard the unmistakeable clicking of the metal slab (He still didn't consider it a door.) sliding open. Turning, he saw two men enter. The first he recognised, it was the guy from earlier, the one who had kidnapped him. The second was an aging man that he didn't recognise, but he recognised what was in his hand. A hypodermic needle filled with a colourless liquid. Quickly, his eyes darted across the room looking for any means of escape, but just as he had gone to move, the younger of the two men ran at him, and for the second time that day (If it was indeed the same day) he was tackled and pinned to the floor. The younger man sat on his back, hands pushing down on his head, making movement impossible. From somewhere nearby he heard two pairs of shoes moving towards him. Then suddenly, someone was kneeling in front of him, and someone behind. From his suit, John could tell the man in front was Mycroft, and with difficulty he raised his eyes to meet the man's smug gaze. "What are you doing?" He asked as he felt the coldness of antiseptic being wiped against his Jugular. Mycroft's brow furrowed into a frown, and as John felt the prick of the needle entering his neck , he finally answered, "Proving my theory." He stated calmly.

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**Thank you for reading! **

**From that ending, I can assume you know that the truth syrum won! I hope you've enjoyed reading this chapter, and I'm sorry if it takes a while for me to upload the next one, I've got exams (Grumbles) **

**Please review and tell me what you think! **

**Til' next time TTFN (Tah Tah For Now) **


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello all! **

**I'm so sorry it's been such a long time since I last updated. I've been really busy, so it's taken a while to get the chapter finished, but here it is.**

**Before you read on, I'm just going to tell you 2 things:**

**1.) There are a lot of questions in this chapter, so I'm sorry if gets a bit boring**

**2.) There is a rather strange question in here (You'll know it when you read it) I might seem a bit out of place, I just put it in for some humour.**

**Also, I've noticed I move Mycroft a lot in this chapter, so sorry if that get's dull. I wrote it in because I think Mycroft would be quite restless.**

**So with that over and done with. Please, read on and enjoy!  
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John couldn't help hissing out in pain as the needle was quickly removed, after the colourless liquid had been administered. Vaguely through the sting in his neck, he felt something being sprayed against the skin where the needle had been moments before, then suddenly the pressure was relieved from his back, as the man (Although ape probably would have been a better way to describe him) stood up. However, he only had a few seconds to savour his freedom before rough hands grabbed him and pushed him down against the sofa, once again. Whilst this was happening Mycroft had sat himself down on the other end of the sofa, and was still acting infuriatingly calm. "Thank you." Said Mycroft nodding at the two men as indication that they could leave, which they swiftly did. "What the hell did you give me?" John shouted, his head spinning ever so slightly as he rubbed his sore neck. "The street name is Truth Serum," Replied the smug man in front of him, "it is a very affective drug for helping with interrogations." The only part of that sentence John had heard was Truth Serum. Truth Serum! It's like he'd fallen into an episode of Spooks. Then again, what did he expect with the Holmes brothers, they weren't ones to leave things half done ( The fact that the toilet had been blown up last week was evidence of that) "Nothing to say?" Asked Mycroft, pulling himself to his feet, so he could stare down at John once again. "Don't worry, soon you won't be able to keep yourself silent."

John felt a shiver go down his spine, as he heard this. The idea of not being able to control himself, put him on edge, but surely it couldn't be as bad as Mycroft was letting on? Could it? "Are you frightened yet John?" Asked Mycroft leaning into John's face. He didn't want to answer. He wasn't going to answer. "Yes," he answered, automatically, "I'm terrified." Why the hell did he say that? He didn't mean to say that! Apparently his shock showed on his face as Mycroft suddenly chuckled sinisterly, "Though I have never had the displeasure of experiencing the drug first hand, I have heard it is an extremely strange experience," There he paused, a wicked smile gracing his lips, "I must say I do not envy you Dr Watson." John was just staring at the man in front of him in utter disbelief, he couldn't do this! Could he? "Now then," Mycroft started, once again seating himself, " I'm going to ask you some questions, and you will answer honestly . You don't have much choice in the matter. This way we will quickly see if I was correct in my deductions." John simply glared at the other man. There were so many things he longed to shout (Most of which weren't meant for the ears of children) however, right now he was too busy focusing on keeping himself quiet. He didn't give a damn about what Mycroft said, he would fight the drug.

"I believe the drug has had long enough to take effect," Mycroft stated coldly, "let's see if it's working." Slowly Mycroft stood once again (For goodness sake couldn't this man sit still!) and began to pace backwards and forwards in front of the worried Doctor. "Is your name John Watson?" Asked the pacing man, stopping to look at him with cold, calculating eyes. "Yes." Responded John, a little quicker than he normally would have, but he wasn't going to lie about that. It was just his name. "Do you live at 221B Baker Street?" Mycroft asked next, his eyes studying John's face intently, "Yes." John answered once again. Honestly, why was Mycroft asking him this? If he thought he'd been trying to kill his brother, surely he should ask some relevant questions. There was a momentary pause, during which time all that could be heard was John's shallow breathing, then finally Mycroft selected his next question, "Have you ever kissed a man before?" What? Had he really asked that, John thought. There was no way he was answering that! "Yes." The words left his lips without him even realising. Oh God! Stupid Truth Serum! He had no control over his answers! At the look on his face, Mycroft once again gave that same vicious grin, "When?" He asked, clearly enjoying John's discomfort. "During medical school," He answered, mentally kicking himself as each word tumbled out, "I got drunk at a party and got dared by my mates." For goodness sake, why was Mycroft asking him this? This had nothing to do with Sherlock! "Did you enjoy it?" The smug man asked, still smiling, "Yes." He answered again against his will, "Why are you doing this!" He shouted.

Mycroft didn't answer, his question, though John guessed it was to get back at him for what he'd apparently been planning to do. "The serum is clearly working," Mycroft stated, calmly "so, let's begin." He seated himself again, and looked as if this time he would stay put. "Do you meet anybody when you go out on your midnight walks?" The question sounded sarcastic, but Mycroft's face was deadly serious, "Yes." He answered reluctantly, he knew that was going to go against him, but it wasn't what Mycroft thought, "Who?" Spat the other man, his eyes seeming to pierce through the Doctor's skull. "A tramp," John admitted, "he's in the park every night. I talk to him." Mycroft didn't say a word, and John suddenly thought he didn't believe him, then again, he had just filled him with truth serum, so Mycroft had no choice but to believe it was true. Which it was! "What do you talk about?" Mycroft asked, apparently still not satisfied with John's answer. "He asks me why I'm there, and asks if I've got any change for a cup of tea." Again, the complete truth. The tramp asked him every night for money, and every night John said the same thing. I haven't got any on me I'm afraid. There was a few seconds of silence, in which Mycroft seemed to be thinking it through, but finally he continued, "Very well then," he said in an unreadable tone, "let's continue."

"Did you make any attempt to contact any assassins or drug dealers?" Mycroft asked, once again staring at John's face. "No." John answered automatically, did he really look like a druggie? How long was it going to be until Mycroft realised he wasn't trying to kill Sherlock? "Do you know who contacted those individuals using your mobile phone?" Mycroft asked again, his brow beginning to crease ever so slightly, "No." Answered John again, who was now feeling more secure. Surely now Mycroft realised he wasn't a murderer , then again, the Holmes brothers were remarkably stubborn (It probably runs in the family)"Who do you think contacted them?" Mycroft asked again, still pursuing the theory he had come up with. "I think Sherlock could have contacted them for a case. He uses my phone a lot." John couldn't help feeling slightly amused at the look on Mycroft's face at that moment, he seemed to be starting to doubt himself. Hopefully that meant this interview wouldn't be going on for much longer. After this answer, Mycroft's eyes seemed to glass over slightly, as he appeared to be thinking through his options and what may of happened and why.

"When was the last time you saw your credit card?" The question sounded rather odd, to John, but he had no choice but to answer, "About a week ago, I used it at the supermarket." At this answer, Mycroft stood again, and began to pace up and down occasionally muttering under his breath, though John couldn't hear what he was saying. "Do you know who bought the items using you credit card?" Asked Mycroft stopping to look over at the Doctor as he awaited his answer, "I don't know," John responded robotically, "I think my card could have been stolen." After this, Mycroft once again began to pace, leaving a tense silence in the room (Again, cell felt more appropriate) which John didn't dare to break. Finally, after a few minutes of this silence, Mycroft asked what seemed to be the most obvious question "Are you trying to kill my brother?" Finally John thought, why hadn't he asked that first? "No." And now, he was almost pleased about the truth serum, because Mycroft now had no choice but to believe him, and couldn't doubt him at all. " Would you ever do anything to hurt Sherlock?" Mycroft asked this softly, as if he'd finally realised that he was wrong, "No. He's a friend, I've got no reason to hurt him." After this statement, John once again looked into Mycroft's gaze, but it wasn't as cold as it had been before. "I feel I must apologize Dr Watson." Mycroft stated as calmly as ever, though he sounded sincerer. "I'm afraid I've completely misjudged you. We all make mistakes." John couldn't help feeling annoyed at this, "You kidnapped me and you drugged me and that's all you can say!" John practically shouted. Mycroft just looked at him steadily, "There is nothing else I can say," He replied calmly, once again nodding up at the camera in the corner of the room, "I will get someone to return you home."

John could only stare at the man in front of him. Honestly after what he'd just put him through, that's all he could say! Then he heard the familiar click as someone entered through the door, and looking up he saw the now all too familiar young man in front of him, a handkerchief clasped in his hand. He knew what was going to happen. "No Mycroft," He said quickly getting to his feet and backing away from his now advancing kidnapper, "if you want to show me your sorry, you won't bloody drug me again." That would make it 3 times in a matter of hours (Was there a world record for these kind of things?) "You can't know where you are." Mycroft stated simply, advancing slightly behind the younger man. Before long John, had reached the end of the room, and there was nowhere else for him to run. Suddenly the man pounced and John was pulled to the floor, and pinned there by the other man's weight (What was that, the third time?) Mycroft just stood there looking down at him, no hint of emotion visible. As the man, once again, covered his mouth with the sweet, damp handkerchief, he began to fight. Twisting and kicking in a desperate attempt to dislodge the other man's body or hand. "Honestly John," Said Mycroft, lightly, "if you struggle you're only going to hurt yourself." Easy for him to say, he wasn't the one being forcibly held down! He honestly didn't give a damn about what Mycroft thought, he was going to resist. He hadn't breathed in the drug yet, but he was finding it almost impossible to the get the man off of him. Then suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in-between his legs, as the man on top of him kneed him in the genitals; hard!

"Ah!" Gasped John as the pain spread, but suddenly that didn't matter. How could he have been so stupid? He'd breathed in! The drug was in his system again! He continued to thrash, but all to soon his energy was spent, and he found himself unable to do anything but lay on the floor and breath (Which was making things worse) Through blurry eyes, he saw Mycroft kneel down beside him, his face still blank and calm. Gently the older of the two Holmes brothers reached forward and pulled his eyelids shut, and he found he simply didn't have the energy to open them again. Finally after a few more moments he was nearly dead to the world around him. From somewhere beside him he heard Mycroft's voice "Look after Sherlock." He said softly, then finally for the 2nd time that day John drifted off into the dark oblivion of unconsciousness.

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**So, there it is Chapter 4. There is one more chapter left in this story, so I'll try and get that up as soon as possible. Again I'm really busy!**

**I'm feeling quite bad for John at the moment, I've drugged him 3 times in 1 story. Sorry John.**

**Please subscribe, favourite and review. Because I love to know what people think.**

**So, until next time TTFN (Tah Tah For Now) ;-)  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello everybody! I've finally reached the last chapter of this story, it was a lot longer than I thought it would be!**

**I'd like to thank everybody who has reviewed, favourited and added it story alert. I'm really glad that you liked it.  
**

**Sherlock is a fun series to write about, so I will probably write another story involving it soon!**

**So please read on, and enjoy the last chapter!  
**

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_Beep. Beep. Beep._ This was all John was aware of as he gradually regained consciousness. Every time it repeated, it seemed to be like something was burrowing deeper and deeper into his skull. Reluctantly, and with much effort, he managed to pry his eyes open. Everything seemed slightly blurry around him, but even through the haze he could tell he was back at the flat. That in itself was a miracle, thinking back to the events of the day (Even thinking hurt his head) he really hadn't believed Mycroft would let him live, let alone drop him back like nothing had happened. He had been sat down (Though draped seemed more appropriate) in his armchair next to the fire, which surprising, had been lit and was currently giving off much welcomed heat, which seemed to be helping his aching head (That drug had some nasty affects) _Beep. Beep. Beep._ Oh, for God's sake what was that stupid noise? Carefully lifting his head, John began to glance around the living room (Still as messy as ever) trying to find the source of the unwelcome disturbance. He looked everywhere, and having had no luck, hung his head against his chest, that's when he spotted it at his feet. It was his mobile that was making the racket, and beside it sat a full bottle of mineral water. Whoever had dropped him off had obviously left it there, knowing that it would wake him. Woozily, the doctor leant forward and with clumsy hands picked up the small machine and stared at the small, bright screen. The screen showed he had a new message (Probably from Sherlock asking him to pick up some supplies, like nicotine patches) so warily, with one hand massaging his throbbing temple, he hit the button and read the message:

_Drink the water Dr Watson. It will help with the headache._

_MH_

MH. It took a few moments for John's battered brain to figure it out. MH. Mycroft Holmes. After what that man had done to him today, did he really expect him to do what he asked? The water was probably drugged or poisoned, and he'd end up going from headache (Which was a bloody understatement) to death. _Beep. Beep. Beep. _Suddenly the small device in his hand began to ring out once again, announcing the arrival of a new message. John once again hit the button, not really looking forward to what he would be shown:

_The waters perfectly safe to drink. Why would I return you home, if I planned on killing you?_

_MH_

As much as John hated to admit it, the man had a point. Reaching down, he plucked up the bottle of water, and removed the cap, before taking a moment to inspect the contents. It didn't look odd, or smell odd (Again, water doesn't particularly smell of anything) so slowly he raised it to his lips and gulped it down. Within a few moments, it seemed to have done its job, as the pain had begun to recede from John's head and he began to feel more alert and more active. _Beep. Beep. Beep. _The phone chirped again. Without even thinking, John went to open the message, but suddenly he caught sight of the clock and date. The date was the same as when he'd been taken (He'd marked it off on his calendar) what really surprised him was the time. It had been about 8 o'clock this morning when, he'd gotten up, it was now 9 o'clock at night. He'd been gone for 13 hours! _Beep. Beep. Beep. _The phone continued to make the same irritating noise, in the same maddening tone. Once again, John hit the buttoned, and inspected the message:

_Now, make sure you dispose of the bottle. If I find Sherlock knows about our meeting, I will not be best pleased._

_I suggest you call the bank about your card, in the morning._

_I really don't think there is any need for me to tell you; this never happened._

_MH_

John could clearly see the unspoken (or written in this case) threat, and he did not plan on telling Sherlock about it. However, with a mind like his, he'd probably figure it out himself in the end. Speaking of Sherlock, where was he? He'd left at 6 o'clock this morning, had his experiment really lasted 15 hours? As if on cue, John heard the unmistakeable noise of the front door being pushed open and slammed shut again almost immediately after. Sherlock was back. Quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to his head, John went into the kitchen and threw the empty bottle into the bin, before arranging more rubbish over the top to cover it. He then rushed back to his seat, the door just opening as his backside touched the cushion. Sherlock hurried in, apparently taking no notice of him, though he knew better than to think that. The tall, lean man in front of, quickly removed his coat and scarf and abandoned them on the table before, plopping himself down on the sofa. "You know it's a bad idea to fall asleep in an armchair, John. Let alone with a fire going." Sherlock stated turning his head to look at him from his relaxed position. This took John by surprise, not really understanding what the other man meant. "I'm sorry. What?" Sherlock simply smirked at him, with that infuriating know it all grin (He clearly shared that with his brother) "Your pupils are dilated, so you have clearly just woken up. You never sleep fully dressed, so you obviously haven't come from your bed. Conclusion you've fallen asleep in the armchair." He paused there, his eyes never leaving John, "Sleeping in a chair is proven to affect your muscles, and with a fire going the house could have burnt down." Right, Sherlock thought that he'd fallen asleep in the chair. He could go with that. That was a good cover story " I'm sorry, but your complaining at me, because I might have damaged the house." Smiling slightly, he pointed at the wall, that now contained a number of dark bullet holes. "What do you call that?" There was momentary pause before Sherlock came up with his answer. "That was different," he stated seriously, "I was bored."

John couldn't help chuckling at this. Honestly, sometimes Sherlock acted just like a stroppy child. He couldn't help wondering what Sherlock was like when he actually was a child. "Tea." Said the prone figure laying on the sofa, his eyes closed contentedly. It wasn't an offer, or a request, and John knew he really wouldn't care if he didn't get it. However, he fancied a cup of tea himself, and so slowly pushed himself out his chair and into the kitchen. He set up the cups, and boiled the kettle, then waited. "So, how did the experiment go?" John asked, just looking for something to fill the time. "Well," Sherlock responded absent minded, "the way in which the bomb dispersed the pieces of blender proved Robinson was guilty. I then had to go with Lestrade and the other idiots of Scotland Yard to arrest him, because they didn't know where to find him. Lestrade then insisted I went back to the station with them, to fill out one of those ridiculous statement, things. That's the reason I'm late back, because the Mickey Mouse brigade at Scotland Yard can't do anything for themselves." They then, once again, lapsed back into silence. As John poured the water onto the teabags, he began to think about the police, and his missing credit card. Mycroft was right (Annoyingly) he would have to call the bank in the morning. The card would have to be cancelled, but whoever had it would have run up debts by now. Debts that he'd have to pay.

As he removed the teabags and added the milk, John began to think of all the places the card could have been taken. Someone probably pick pocketed him at that gang hideout that Sherlock had made them visit the other day. Also, considering the things that were bought, it wouldn't have surprised him if it was used against another gang in the area. Now, that was a horrible thought. Knowing that in some way he'd been a part of gang violence. It made him feel quite sick. While thinking this through, John quickly grabbed the now full mugs and walked back into the living room, carefully passing Sherlock's mug to him, before reseating himself with his own cup. He was still thinking all of this through when a statement from Sherlock broke him out of his reverie, almost causing him to spill his tea, "Oh John," the detective said not even looking up, "I hope you don't mind. I had to borrow your card.

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**And it's done. That's the end of the story. I hope you've enjoyed reading it.**

**Just so I don't get a telling off, that is not my opinion on the police force, it's what I think Sherlock thinks. **

**Please review, and tell me how the whole story came out, because I reallly want to improve for the next one!**

**So readers, I thank you!**

**TTFN (Tah Tah For Now)  
**


	6. Epilogue

**I know I said I'd finished, but thanks to some of the reviews, I thought I'd give it a bit of a fuller ending.**

**Many thanks to: VG Jekyll, rupzydaisy and Power Of Funk, for helping me decide to write this.**

**This epilogue takes place about half an hour after the previous chapter. So about 9:30pm.**

**This really is the last chapter. Please Enjoy!  
**

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"I'm going to bed." Announced John bitterly, before quickly abandoning his mug in the kitchen and walking out of the lounge and up the stairs. Sherlock couldn't help noticing John had finished his tea a lot faster than he normally did, and he was suddenly very irritable, just after he'd told him about the card. Then again, that was probably to be expected in "normal" people, after all, in John's mind it was probably his fault that he'd been kidnapped and spent the whole day in the company of the paranoid, egotistical Mycroft. As he heard the thump of John's bedroom door closing, Sherlock pulled himself to his feet and went into the kitchen, making a bee line for the over flowing bin. Without even stopping to think about what it may contain, he pushed his hand into its depths, determined to find what he was looking for. It didn't take long. After about a minute, Sherlock drew his hand out victoriously, clutching the empty, and now crumpled, water bottle. A quick inspection told him all he needed to know, it was the brand used by Mycroft's office. There was now no doubt about it, Mycroft had kidnapped John.

Still clutching the bottle, Sherlock walked back into the lounge, draped himself back over the sofa, and waited, listening intently to the noises coming for John's room above. He heard the doctor moving across his room, the creaks from the floorboards indicated he was changing into the t-shirt and jogging bottoms that he slept in. He heard John settling himself into his bed, the increased weight making the old wooden boards groan in protest. Then there was silence. Nothing. After taking a few moments to make sure John definitely would not come down again, Sherlock thought it was safe. "John's gone to bed." He stated to no one in particular, "You can come up now." There was brief pause, before Sherlock added as an afterthought, "If you have to." He knew Mycroft would get the message. After all, that was what those stupid cameras were for, wasn't it? Keeping an eye on what John and he said and did. He dedicated a certain amount of time everyday to finding these hidden nuisances and disconnected them, but no matter how many he did away with, whenever he and John left the flat empty, by the time they returned a new set had been installed. Of course John knew nothing about them, he didn't pay enough attention to spot them, and Sherlock didn't plan on telling him. He was left waiting for about a minute before he heard the front door opening and closing, and within a few seconds an all too familiar figure was standing in the doorway.

"Good evening, Sherlock." Mycroft said pleasantly as he walked in, and sat himself down in John's armchair, letting his umbrella lean against the armrest. "Mycroft." Sherlock replied blandly, turning to look at the man, who he now considered his private keeper. The man who dogged his every step. It was very hard for him to think of him now, as his brother. There was a brief pause, during which time, neither brother spoke, each one silently evaluating the other. It was Sherlock who finally broke the stalemate, "Why did you kidnap John?" He asked sounding mild, but there was a clear undercurrent of frustration. Mycroft simply stared back at him, for a moment it seemed he was going to claim innocence, but apparently he thought better of it, "I did it for your safety." He stated as though he was explaining something to a child. This really annoyed Sherlock, honestly, why was it so hard to believe he could look after himself? "Don't give me that! You know damn well, John is not a threat!" In a complete contrast to his brother's obvious anger, Mycroft was completely calm, his face expressionless, apart from the small smile, which always seemed to occupy it, "The surveillance teams picked up some strange behaviour, calls and purchases. I was simply investigating." Here there was a pause as Sherlock processed this information, trying desperately to think of what Mycroft was talking about, then it came to him, "You know, it was me who made those calls. If you'd of evaluated it, you would of heard my voice. One of your ridiculous cameras probably saw me picking up the card, so you can't blame John for that, so again I ask you. Why?" Mycroft didn't even seem to react to this, "The walks late at night. They seemed suspicious." Oh, of course the walks. Sherlock knew all about those, even if John didn't know he knew. "He was a soldier in Afghanistan. You've read his therapists diary, it says that movement helps him forget. Hence the reason he takes the walks." There was a pause here, as Sherlock realised why Mycroft had done it, "You did it to scare him into line!"

If anything, Mycroft's smirk just seemed to get bigger, "I suspected him. I interrogated him. That's the way it works Sherlock." Sherlock stood up at this and began to pace, only stopping to give his brother the occasional glare. "Oh, so drugging and kidnapping him is part of the official process is it?" Mycroft didn't make a sound which was a good enough answer for Sherlock. Even if Mycroft had suspected John, the only reason he went to such extreme methods, was to intimidate him. "Out of curiosity, how did you know about the kidnapping?" Mycroft asked, his eyes never leaving Sherlock as he paced up and down the room. "Simple." Sherlock responded, with a smug smile, "As I came in I heard John rushing around the kitchen, and he wasn't quick enough to get back to his seat. So he was trying to hide something. Next his body. It was shaking slightly, and his pupils were dilated, these are two of the after effects of the sedative used by the British government. So, clearly you had him knocked out, and why knock him out, if you weren't going to take him somewhere. And, finally, the flat is far too tidy. Your clean up goons did too much, it was easy to see someone had been in here." Mycroft didn't even flinch at this, then again, he was used to his brothers skills, "So, why did you give John the story about falling asleep in the armchair?" Sherlock just rolled his eyes, Mycroft probably already knew, but was asking anyway, " So, John would think I didn't know. I'm assuming you've threatened him in some way, to keep quiet." Mycroft seemed quite content with this, however Just as he opened his mouth to reply, there was a loud bang from upstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the stairs.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" Asked John's distant voice as he approached the lounge, "I've had a hell of a day, and I want to sleep! Is that too much to ask?" As John entered the lounge dressed in his make-shift pyjamas, his hair sticking out in random places, clearly from attempts of getting comfortable in bed, all of his attention was on Sherlock, but then suddenly he caught sight of Mycroft. As his eyes met Mycroft's, Sherlock couldn't help noticing the shock, and even a hint of fear in John's body posture. The bewildered doctor looked between the two Holmes brothers, his mouth opening and closing in a desperate attempt find something to say, however Sherlock got there first, "John, go back to bed. I'll handle this." His flat mate frowned at this, clearly about to argue with him, "John!" He said sternly. Reluctantly the Doctor turned back the way he came, and made his way back upstairs. As soon as the creaks of the floorboards subsided, Mycroft stood, clearly about to make his exit, "Please, tell Dr Watson I'm sorry about the mix up." It was clear from his tone that he didn't mean, but Sherlock could see there was some glimmer of truth, " Dr Watson is good for you, Sherlock." He stated, turning to look at his younger brother. It was then, that Sherlock did what he had wanted to do since the moment, his brother had entered. He pushed him out of the door, and shut it, showing the conversation was over. "Good Night, Sherlock." Mycroft said cheerfully from the other side of the wood, before turning on his heel, and making his way down the stairs.

As Sherlock heard the slam of the front door, he began to wander around the room, his eyes examining every crevice. He wanted those camera out; now. However, just as he spotted the first one, he heard the lounge door behind him opening. "I told you to go back to bed." He said, not even turning around to face the man, "I tell you not to shoot the wall, but you still do." Responded John from behind him, as he made his way over. "You knew?" John asked, just as Sherlock turned to face him. "Of course I knew." He said casually, looking at the smaller man in front of him, "I told you that you that other story, so you would think I didn't." John just sighed, plopping himself down in his armchair, "Of course you did." Sherlock followed suit, sitting himself down opposite John, "Don't worry. He won't bother you again." This made John chuckle, "How do you know?" Sherlock simply, picked up his violin, and set in place, his eyes shut in concentration, "Because apparently," he said calmly, as he began to play, "your good for me."

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**Thanks again for reading this.**

**As always reviews are always welcome.**

**So TTFN (Tah Tah For Now)  
**


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